Chapter 18 Taylor
TAYLOR
There’s an avalanche of messages on the ballet group chat, and I stare at them bleary-eyed.
I pull on yoga pants and a blue top, some of the new clothing Payton and Hayley shopped for. They have black credit cards that they’re gleeful about using, to the point that they argue about who gets to pay.
It’s about a meeting Kon has invited us all to, via Madam Polina. There’s no more information about it, but it’ll be after ballet practice.
Inevitably I can’t concentrate on drills, and then about ten minutes before we finish, my focus dissolves like sugar in water because Kon walks in, followed by his men.
They’re like something out of a movie with their suits, tattoos, concealed guns, and air of power.
Except they’re carrying stacks of paper, tablets, and one has a projector.
Everyone stops.
There’s some polite manoeuvring, where Kon apologises to Madam Polina and says they’ll wait, and she insists we were finished even though we clearly weren’t.
Some of the dancers gush to Kon about how grateful they are about things he’s arranged for them, and he smiles graciously as his men take over the studio.
Kon begins to speak—not calling for attention or anything vulgar like that, he just starts speaking and everyone turns to listen.
“All of you here are likely to be in Harlesden for some time, or maybe permanently. I’ve been aware that a hotel is not a long-term solution, but it took until now to arrange a suitable alternative.
” He sweeps a hand towards the displays of photos, floor plans, and virtual tours.
“These properties have been procured for you, and will be signed over into your ownership as soon as you choose where you’d like to live. ”
He’s set up a house showroom. Houses he’s going to give us.
That’s incredibly generous, and there’s a chorus of “ooh”, “thank you”, and other murmurs of disbelief. I guess we’re all a bit more sceptical than we were. Kon isn’t the first person to offer us something too good to be true.
But he did save us. And the reason less than half of our original number are here is that the others have returned to their families. Exactly as Kon promised.
And we all have phones. As Kon said, he has arranged for anyone who wants to dance to have auditions with the London School of Ballet. The real one this time, not the scammers who managed to sell us into slavery.
There are a lot of questions, and even more excitement.
Kon briefly describes the houses and apartments he’s acquired, pointing out that the larger houses would be suitable for more than one person, and which have gardens.
Then everyone is browsing, getting into little groups to live together, or discussing which of the one-bedroom apartments have the nicest views.
I drift around, so aware of Kon at the edge of the room, directing things, as my friends decide on where to live.
It’s all too surreal. I look at the photos of neatly furnished apartments and wonder what world I’ve ended up in.
I’m not sure if this is meant for me anyway, since I have Payton and Taylor. I’m not alone like the rest of the dancers who are still in London, even if I feel lonely.
Kon comes up behind me, and I sense him before he says anything, as though that night together has linked us in some physical way. I breathe in his scent like warm caramel.
“Have you decided?” His deep voice reverberates through me.
I shake my head, but not because I don’t know where I’d like to be. “It’s too generous.”
He steps closer, his shoulder almost brushing mine, close enough that I imagine I can feel his heat. My heart rate picks up and I’m so aware of him. How tall he is, how strong.
And how it felt to be beneath him. Held.
“If you can’t decide,” he doesn’t respond to my comment. “May I make a suggestion?”
He’s going to tell me to go for one of the cute 1920’s houses in Harlesden, complete with a little garden and a kitchen with cream cupboards. Something as different as possible from the hotels where we stayed in the past.
But the apartments are in this building, and didn’t someone say he lives in the penthouse? The thought of living under the same roof as Kon makes my stomach flip.
“Maybe,” I aim for teasing, but I think I sound nervous.
“Come,” he says brusquely, and my mind echoes when that demand meant something very different.
“Come for me.” His voice was strained then, but just as commanding.
I follow Kon to the lobby. There are a dozen sleek black limos waiting outside, and my ballet colleagues are falling into them, giggling, with Kon’s men. They’re groups of two, three, and four. Little friendships I was never invited into. I was always the wrong fit.
“You fit me so perfectly.” The memory bubbles up as Kon directs me to an elevator tucked to the side, not the main one.
“It’s on the one-but-top floor,” he explains as we step into the elevator.
There are only a couple of doors in the corridor of the floor we stop at, and Kon unlocks the solid wooden door and swings it silently open before stepping back and inviting me to go first. I gasp as I walk in.
It’s a beautiful, open-plan space with huge windows that look over the Harlesden suburbs, parks and beyond to the city of London.
The floor taps under my footsteps, smooth wood like a ballet studio, and there are comfortable-looking sofas with soft cushions in bright colours, a large television, a sleek coffee table, and a fluffy rug underfoot.
Some bookshelves, and it would be perfect, but since the windows are on two sides, there isn’t really a place, which is a pity.
To the side, there’s a dining area, with the table set up for six, complete with glasses and luxurious plates, and cloth napkins.
Beyond, there’s a neat kitchen with brushed metal appliances that gleam and a kitchen island with a bowl of fruit.
“It’s great, Kon,” I breathe, and that’s true. I can see myself living here.
“Take a look upstairs before you decide,” Kon says neutrally, and gestures with his chin.
The stairs are elegant and solid, of course, and as I reach the landing, I gasp. There’s only one door, open, that leads to a gorgeous pale-pastel and white bedroom, but that’s not what makes my heart beat fast.
It’s the bookshelves that line the corridor. They are all the way along, a chaos of colourful spines. I run up the remaining stairs and yes, I’m grinning. I scan over the titles, and there are hundreds, but I see every book I mentioned to Kon that I read over the years I was in the ballet.
A low chuckle makes me turn to Kon, who is beside me again.
“You like it?” he asks with dry amusement.
“Yes.” Such a little word, but it means so much.
“Well.” He nods. “I suppose you won’t need this then.”
He reaches out and for a second I think he’s just pulling out a book. But no. The dark-blue hardback pivots out and the whole bookcase swings open.
I make an inarticulate noise of delight and amazement as Kon glances down at me with a smile I’d call smug if I weren’t busy staring through the secret door he’s just opened.
A door hidden in a bookcase, like a gothic mystery novel.
But beyond, it’s even better. The room is small, only the size of a cupboard really. I clap my hand over my mouth, because a few steps into the room that’s revealed, there’s a bright red slide, big enough for an adult.
Since the slide curves, you can’t see what’s below at all. A drop into the unknown.
“Oh my god, Kon.” I’m vibrating. “What’s this?”
“Taylor. Rhetorical question,” he says dryly.
Right. He doesn’t answer silly questions.
But his expression is pure mischief when I glance up into his face.
“It’s a secret room with a slide,” he says.
“What’s at the bottom?” I ask.
He arches one eyebrow. “You’ll have to find out.”
The challenge is clear. Do I trust Kon enough to slide into whatever is down there?
Yes. It’s not even a question.
I’m sitting on the edge of the red plastic before I complete that thought, because this man risked his life to get me out of the Volk ballet, he was considerate and generous when I made him take my virginity, and he’s continued to help me and be my friend when I know I’m far too young for him to be interested in, and have caused him all sorts of problems.
I push off and I lose my tummy as the slide drops away.
It’s so fast I barely take in the curving slide, the high sides, and white walls.
A happy shriek escapes me as I sweep down, my yoga pants protecting me and providing no friction.
It’s a blur of colour and exhilaration. Child-like fun that I haven’t had for years.
Then another corner, and it opens out. There’s a huge pile of cushions at the bottom of the slide, and I’m helpless to do anything but fall right into them with a giggle as I overbalance the haphazard stack.
Again, again, my body clamours as I get to my feet and look around. It’s a room that’s perhaps three or four times the size of the little hotel bedrooms I used to stay in. All painted white, for a second I don’t see what makes it anything but a normal, bare space.
Bookshelves.
There are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all in white. There’s even a little set of steps on wheels to access the higher shelves.
My heart soars. It’s a secret library.
I love it. I love it so much. Almost as much as the man who created it.
“Oh my God,” I say under my breath. The realisation rocks me. I’m in love with this man. How can I not be? He’s everything I could want. Every time we meet, every time we touch, it’s as though he knows me.
He sees me.
“Is that an injury ‘oh my god,’ or a pleased ‘oh my god’?” Kon asks, his voice muffled from above.
“It’s…” I run my hand over the smooth painted wood of the nearest shelf. “Come down and see for yourself.” I borrow his own words because I need him by my side.
He huffs. “Get out of the way then, I don’t want to squash you.”
And if I thought that using a slide was beneath serious, grumpy, deadly Kon Morosov, I was totally wrong.
There’s a swoosh, and he pops out of the slide right onto his feet as though he’s done it a million times.
“You’ve done that before!” And my voice skirts between delighted and accusing.
Kon adjusts his cuffs.
“No comment,” he says with a little smirk.
A giggle bubbles out of me as I envisage Kon repeatedly running up the stairs and then sliding down onto the cushions like a big kid.
“You enjoy it, don’t you?” I continue.
“I had to check it was safe,” he intones levelly, and with so much self-righteousness that I think anyone else might be fooled.
“That was a rhetorical question,” I reply with sass. “I know the answer is yes.”
“Mmm.” But the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “So, do you like the apartment?”
I’m about to enthuse an embarrassing amount, but my brain finally catches up. “Wait, why did you have to test the slide? Is this new?”
Kon nods reluctantly, casting his gaze up at the empty shelves as though the answer might be there. And perhaps it is.
“You said you lived on the floor up.”
“I do.” He takes a breath and seems to steel himself before looking at me.
I blink.
“This is your apartment?” I’m not quite understanding.
“The rooms upstairs were. They’re separated now. All the legal documents will be in order, don’t worry. And there’s this.” He points at a stack of white envelopes on a shelf, then flicks one into his hand and passes it to me.
I don’t have time to fully understand that he’s offering me part of his home, because as I accept the envelope from him, our fingers brush, and my heart does more of a lurch than my stomach did on the slide. It’s electric every time we touch.
I wonder if he feels it too?
“What’s this?” I ask.
“I think we’ve established I do not answer that sort of question,” he says wryly.
There’s no name on the envelope, but since the only way I’m going to find out is by opening it, I unfold it—it’s not sealed—and withdraw the card inside.
It’s one of those generic cards of a goofy dog. Something that could mean anything to anyone, and for a second, I’m almost disappointed. Thin card. Sort of cheap and inconsequential.
But I open it all the same, and inside is a credit card style gift voucher. For a lot of money. I glance over at the stack of envelopes. There has be a hundred there, at least.
“Is this a joke?” Because if they’re all the same, there’s enough to buy a house.
He sighs deeply. “I do not joke.”
I blink in disbelief at the serious bratva boss before me. He does joke, that’s the thing.
“I was told that’s a good store to buy books from, and it’s the largest voucher they do.”
I must continue to look as baffled as I feel, because Kon’s expression gets an excessively patient tinge. “To fill the bookshelves. I thought you’d like to fill the shelves yourself.”
He gazes at me with hard eyes, almost daring me to ask another question that doesn’t need an answer.
“You did all this for me?” I don’t ask that. Instead, I ask the question that I don’t know the answer to.
“Why?” I whisper.
His throat bobs as he swallows, and I remember the feel of that harsh black stubble on my skin. Heat flushes through me.
I have fears and hopes for what the answer is.
Because he cares for me? Or my fear… because he feels guilty about what was the best night of my life.
“Kon, why did you do this?”